


Sleeping Dragon

by ZoeGMiller



Series: Sleeping Dragon [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Bottoming from the Top, Consensual Rough Sex, F/F, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Romance, Rough Sex, Tender Kindness, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Corrin, Trans Female Character, Transgender, cis!Camilla, f/f - Freeform, ferocious finger fucking too :3, many feelings, paint, trans!corrin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeGMiller/pseuds/ZoeGMiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long separation, Corrin wakes to a pleasant dawn and a reunion with her love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=K), [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



> Hi, I’m Zoe! If you enjoy this work, I'm available for commissions and I've got a ton of other work on my site, [bespokesmut.com](http://www.bespokesmut.com). Or, if you'd like some smutty flash fiction of your own, feel free to drop a request into my [ask box](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com/ask) over at tumblr ([zoegmiller.tumblr.com](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com)) and I'll do my best to accommodate you!
> 
> This work is a gift for a friend, written _with_ a friend. Happy reading, K!  <3

Corrin roused from her slumber as the first stirrings of dawn were sneaking their languid orange beams around the edges of the thick curtains insulating the windows. Though winter was in full swing and a hushing snow covered the Ice Tribe village, nestled low in the mountains north of Cheve, Corrin's room was particularly warm and cozy, thanks to a stoked fire, a big, comfortable bed, and an enormous, fluffy quilt.

The princess squirmed beneath her covers, sleep still clinging to the corners of her eyes. She'd had the most marvelous dream. Camilla was there, of course, and that was how Corrin knew it was a dream—Camilla had been sent off to the Woods of the Forlorn, and gone for weeks. It was a truly wonderful dream, one free from strife, from the warlike history of both of her peoples, from the pressure of ruling, from the expectations placed upon her by two different families and by the citizens of their nations and by an accursed sword, of all things!

None of that—just softness and warmth, reassuring and sweet. And, she thought, somewhat... moist?

Her knees felt heavy.

This, in the mind of the sleep-addled, counted as a significant revelation. 

Something warm. 

Soft? 

Glancing down her body, she regarded the shape outlined in the quilt, as if a rather enormous cat were nestled beneath her covers. She hardly dared to move and, with the stillness, felt the rush of blood in her ears, the pounding of her heart, the strange feeling of relief washing across her. Oddly, she felt no fear and sensed no danger. She was somehow aware of this, as if her casual reaction to the presence in the room was natural. It was, perhaps, the fading remnants of sleep, lingering in her mind like subtle hypnosis, dulling her instincts and slowing her hand as she tugged the soft shroud of the quilt from her legs.

Corrin's paramour was revealed to her with the soft flutter of lavender hair. Corrin’s legs, trapped beneath a generous, full-figured body, gave a coltish thrash, and a heat rose, instinctive, in her cheeks, as she took full view of the woman’s attentions upon her.

With the soft pop of her mouth's release, Camilla announced her presence to the small room, the sound pleasant and mild beneath the tender crackle of the smoldering fire. She smiled, her lips glimmering in the low light, crouched above Corrin in a panther's pose. She was dressed in a thick robe, loosely tied, such that the firelight sent shadows prancing amid the deep valley of her cleavage with each rise and fall of her breath. In her hand, she held Corrin's cock, encouraged to sleepy life by her mouth's embrace, and she greeted her Little Princess with an expressive shimmy of her raised rump. “Good morning,” she said. “I've missed you.”

“Camilla! I missed you too, so, so...” Corrin’s words, and thoughts, vanished to scarcely a whisper beneath the gentle squeeze upon her anatomy. Through a pleasurable sigh, she murmured, “Camilla...” 

She'd felt so alone, so frightened! But she'd been the one who sent her off, hadn't she? So desperate to prove to her elder that she was every inch the princess she had been called upon to be. But that was so long ago, and each step in and out of the Deeprealms had distorted her knowing of the passage of time even further. It felt like years!

Though she was loath to despite ruin the sweet intimacy of the moment, Corrin wanted to wrap her arms about Camilla's waist, drag her into an unbreakable hug. As it turned out, Camilla's position, her comfortable, strong laze across the Little Princess's legs, made the choice for her, and prevented any such embrace. Reaching for Camilla’s shoulders, the distance proved too great, all Corrin could manage was the timid slip of her hands through her lover's long, soft hair. The waking stiffness cossetted in Camilla's tender grip only reinforced that separation. Saliva and smudged remnants of lipstick against gleamed along her pale skin in the firelight. 

“You… you shouldn’t…” Corrin found herself swept up in stammering shock of seeing Camilla so. Never had either dared such a thing—a shared kiss, a queer closeness, yes, but no more… until now? Her heart tempered that shock, strangely. In all the world, there was never any rock so solid, no ground so firm as Camilla's love for her. She could cloak herself in that love and be safer and stronger than behind even the inches-thick plate Effie so regularly donned.

“Imagine how envious I was...” Camilla almost seemed to glow with Corrin's whelming affection towards her. “Hearing you'd granted yourself the leisure of making camp with the Ice Tribe while I spent my days mired in the muck of that heinous swamp.” She affected a pout, tilting her head in thought, and—quite accidentally, one could be sure—her hair spilled gracefully along the slim line of Corrin's cock as the Little Princess tangled energetic, yearning fingers in her hair. Blossoming like a flower seeking the first rays of sunlight, Camilla crawled slowly up Corrin's body, drinking in slow measure the princess’s love.

Of course, their separation had been no vacation for Corrin either. Strife abounded, even in these peaceful lands. The Little Princess couldn't help herself. “You would have been envious, Camilla! You're always so warm...” The words trailed away as Camilla drew herself closer, their truth plainer by the second.

“Flora told me you were heart-sick,” Camilla said, eyes lit with a capricious jealousy that in no-way covered their glinting concern. Her voice was barely a whisper on the breeze. “I had her tell me everything, all your troubles, while I made her bathe everything, so I would be ready for you.” Camilla's eyebrows inclined flirtatiously, she smiled, the evidence of her own heartache plain upon her face. “Oh, my precious, precious Corrin. You've had so many trials...” 

Corrin slept unclad, even here in frigid Cheve, as per Nohrian martial custom— clothing, even slight, is itself armor, and therefore sacred—and so there was nothing to impede the sight of the blush that bloomed along her pale skin. “Flora said that? To you, in the bath?” She hardly managed the words, a flicker of jealousy in her own eyes as her she released her elder's hair, slipped her arms round in warm embrace. Her slight chest rose and fell against the soft fullness of Camilla's, one slender thigh arching against Camilla. The older woman’s form was unmistakable—plush softness with steel strength beneath, unlike her more compact, slimly muscular junior.

Camilla’s body nestled against Corrin's, the soft, red velvet of her robe tickling over bare skin, her hand with a tender hold, almost fragile, around that small, precious length—Little Princess, indeed—and her lips edging mildly over Corrin's cheek as she spoke. “You don't need to worry any longer,” she said, her hand gently stirring to motion around Corrin's shaft. “I'm here to take care of you now.” 

“I never worried.” Corrin lied, eyes closing, her world shrinking to the sweet physical contrast of two bodies in contact, in shelter from the cold. She buried her face in Camilla's luxurious hair, her lips floating along Camilla’s cheek and skin and scalp in timid, barely-damp kisses. Her hips rocked, urging her cock into rhythm with Camilla's hand. Camilla’s fingers were surprisingly delicate and deft. Corrin had never felt them before, and had rarely even seen Camilla without her kidskin gloves on. Strange, Corrin mused in her vulnerable position, the parts of herself that her lover chose to expose and chose to protect. All of Nohr knew of Camilla’s beauty, but precious few had ever touched the sensitive skin of her hands.

Corrin throbbed warm and slow, at first. It was as though she drew from Camilla's warmth, her gentleness, her focus, as the storm outside howled, the world of ice melting beneath her. For the first time since entering Cheve, she felt sweat across her forehead, her chest, her back, in the sheerest damp sheen. She let her jaw fall, let her welcoming moan drive out the chill of the room and the fears that hovered about its edge. Corrin’s lips parted once more, her eyes welling with effusive praise at the ready. “Camilla, you’re so…”

Camilla silenced her with the faintest fingertip upon her lips. “Oh shush, you'll have me blushing.” Hands occupied, she let the weight of her breasts upon Corrin serve as a reciprocal embrace, releasing a mild sound of satisfaction at the possessive reach of Corrin's leg against hers. With the warmth of her hand still urging that petite shaft to constant attention, Camilla crawled atop Corrin, slinking protectively down. With the friction of bodies, her robe spilled open, and she let free a gasp—though hardly one of surprise—as the curves of her breasts, and her large nipples, traced their patterns along Corrin's strong stomach and defined hips as she made her descent along the trail of her lover.

Something in the body of the princess of Nohr yearned, and she reached up to the empty chill of the air, as if to pull it to her breast. For as long as she had known Camilla, Camilla had meant closeness. To love Camilla, and to be loved by her, was to be wrapped up in her, to be ensconced in seemingly-endless warmth and generosity that, even the princess knew, could turn in a second to something sharp and dangerous when threats arose to those she loved. So to love Camilla without embrace lifted an ache in her chest, forced her heart into new patterns.

New, and fast, when Camilla gracefully took the diminutive length of the girl into her mouth once more, her lips soft and tight around the head of Corrin's cock, wet and exciting and intense within.

The draconian blood flared within Corrin, a sudden surge. Her nails sharpened and lengthened, and her body grew hard, misinterpreting this previously unknown closeness as violence, and demanding control for the sake of protection from this whelming outside force.

But Corrin held firm. Though she struggled beneath sensations from without and from within, she did not buck in excitement and she did not panic. In lieu of the much missed embrace, she lifted her legs, locked them tight around Camilla's torso—as though she were afraid that, without that touch, Camilla would feel only the wilding craze of her blood and not the love that sang beneath.

No fear stirred in Camilla, nor did any part of her tense or cower or quake. Did they not share a love that was beyond words? And could Camilla not know the needs of her little one across leagues and miles, even silently? This was Corrin, her beloved, her treasure, and her Little Princess. Though rage of an ill-fated heritage might stir in those draconic veins, Camilla knew that never, over no matter and no time, would Corrin hurt her.

And so, even after this long separation, Camilla understood what her beloved required—perhaps even better than this selfsame beloved did herself. It was with quiet dignity she welcomed Corrin into her mouth. Almost soundlessly, she suckled, inclining her head, and letting Corrin feel the ripple of tongue against flesh as she so dutifully cleared the salty taste from Corrin’s skin. Her large rump gave a subtle wriggle, when Corrin’s legs closed around her, encouraging this minor display of dominance. 

Corrin’s cheeks bloomed like roses.

Camilla’s nose flared gently with breath, a maternal giggle caught somewhere in her throat—her love had learned well the ways of command in her absence, it seemed. Her eyes closed, and a rush of warm air stroked down the Little Princess’s length. Camilla groaned at the fullness of it, allowing its questing thickness passage to the very limit of her mouth, as far as it cared to reach—though it was small, beneath her attentions it was harder than iron, and that was far more pleasing.

The princess arched, surged, moaned, firm within Camilla, and strove to fill the depths of her love and meet that vast, beautiful generosity. With each incline of her head, each caress of her tongue, each warm breath, she thrilled—such novel sensations, for a heart etched hard by war and loss, each more intense, more intimate, more adoring than the last. She barely noticed the pleased wiggle of her lover's rump, so focused were her eyes upon Camilla's face. 

In the dim light, Camilla’s lips, with their slick hold around Corrin’s length, seemed almost etched in smile. Would Camilla have considered her actions generous? Likely, she thought of it as her duty, a potent desire to serve, protect, and care for the ones she loved. She gave it gladly, and perhaps that's what made it generous, but it caused her no concern, or even conscious thought. Corrin was her love. Let the passion consume her, if it must. Let the dragon overtake her, if it will. She was not afraid. And she would continue this work of her love until its end, dutifully swabbing away the musky scents of struggle and heat from Corrin's skin just as she aimed to soothe the clenching tension from her heart. How well Camilla knew, from her vicious work, that it took not just strength, but patience, to tame beasts. 

Corrin’s own face mirrored the smile of contentment, the relax of muscle, the clearness of Camilla's eyes as, coaxed forward into motion and desire, she lifted her hips, begging deeper, urged Camilla’s nose into the curled, dark hair at the base of her shaft. Corrin’s warlike fears and alarm had not quite parted—had never been far from her—and though the dragon within her relented, alive and protective and desirous, unafraid and adoring, it showed itself in the most gentle pull of Camilla's hair, of ready nails gentle across her soft skin, as Corrin worked herself up to something greater.

There was no alarm, as Camilla felt the dragon-sharp nails searching through her hair and prickling across her scalp. There was no fear of the monster that lurked inside her Little Princess—if, indeed, Camilla would have even called it such a thing. Instead, her mouth bound and available, she conveyed her chivalry and trust with closed eyes, a steady breath through the boundless, wiry forest of Corrin's pubic hair, and a squeeze of fingers around her lover's hip.

Perhaps she choked, a little, as Corrin’s hardness rose to full, aching length within the warm, wet confines of her mouth. It was the smallest sound, quieter than a cat's sneeze, and she accepted the need of her treasured love into her body, happy to facilitate, to tend, to mend, and comfort, and to move Corrin forward at the pace Camilla knew she needed.

The princess's heart did shift and rumble with tension; daily she had been required to submit to draconic form and spirit, and it had become so much easier to fall into that prison, to give in to passion or fear and yield her control to something more feral. And so when Camilla sent Corrin’s warmth through her, made her home to that impossibly deep, beautiful love, the dragon was there within, coiled, waiting about the organ that drove the Little Princess’s blood.

There was no rage. A less sincere lover might have sparked a potent cocktail of passions, and by unhappy chance dragged the wyrm to the fore. But this sensation was not the murky, confined, fearful bubbling of challenge that, Corrin understood, occasionally drove such as Charlotte in passionate conquests. This was transcendent; a unity of souls. One heart, alone, fell to the dragon all too easily, just as it had on Corrin’s disastrous first occasion of becoming, where the rage drove her blind, and she could only think to kill. 

But two hearts were full proof against it; Camilla's ardent love disarmed the danger, and when the passion began to swell and build in the Princess's tight sac it was clean and beautiful, full and vibrant, a summer storm swift and powerful and bright. Her chest grew tight, and her hips locked. Her toes curled, and her breathing stopped. She held there, paralyzed, in this eternal moment of small, precious pleasure.

And so it was that Camilla cleansed Corrin’s heart just as deftly as her skin, let its fervent pounding shudder the fears and insecurities and anger through her veins, down into her core to be purified. Corrin’s eyes gleamed with clean tears, her hands cradled and embraced, her legs locked possessively around her most prized. And she surged upwards, spilling like liquid fire, warm, into her lover's mouth, no sound greater than a sweet cry of understanding between her pursed, eager lips.

And Camilla accepted her, just as she did in all things. She took the slightly bitter taste of Corrin's love along her tongue, and nursed her shiveringly stiff rod quietly in the moments that followed, squeezing her hands into strong muscles of Corrin's flanks and swallowing tenderly the small ebb of fluid that represented their love. She breathed quietly in that moment, hardly a sound at all, as she claimed this precious gift, enjoying how the staccato panting of Corrin’s recovery echoed in the small room.

Gently, her hands found the slowly softening length of Corrin's shaft, drawing it from between her lips and letting it rest, chilly, shellacked with spit and joy as it was, against Corrin's svelte stomach. Camilla rose onto her knees, then gave a pause, a queer look coming over her. Glancing down, she noticed the constrictive way the robe had pooled around her elbows, she shucked it from herself, letting Corrin watch the shimmy and snake of her pale shoulders in the darkness. The robe came free of her arms, and she let it hang loosely as it was tied around her waist. Her large breasts swayed, hanging pendulously beneath her, as she, for the final time that night, made the climb of her lover's body. Her shape, soft in places, muscled in others, slid coolly atop Corrin's. Her lips found Corrin's face, and Camilla dutifully kissed away each tear that spilt down Corrin's ruddy cheeks, or down along her small, pointed ears. 

“Sssh,” she whispered, “sssh; I’m here.”

After a time, Corrin was clean, and Camilla had transitioned onto her back, to lie beside her love, and to put an arm around her, to pull Corrin into her warmth, and rest her cheek in the valley of those generous breasts. Her hands sifted through her beloved's short, black hair. “Well, I don't care if it loses us a battle or even the whole war; I'll never return to that swamp. Corrin dear, it was atrocious. The muck and the mud, and then the sweat and grime of the long ride here...” She sighed, the sound ringing a pleasant vibration between their two bodies. “I don't mind telling you it took nearly an hour of Flora's hard scrubbing before I began to feel even remotely like myself again...” Drowsy were her words, and characteristically vain. Though, for these two, their intent was obvious—she would never leave her Little Princess's side again.

Though it was anyone’s guess as to whether the Little Princess in question heard this declaration. Looking down, Camilla soaked in the picturesque view of Corrin’s peaceful, slumbering face quashed against her breast, gently squashing her cheek into the ample, retreating flesh, apparently having decided that Camilla’s bosom was far more comfortable than any silken pillow. 

“Well,” she said, a mild, maternal smile finding her lips. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you all about it tomorrow.”

Camilla's head lolled, her cheek rested upon the soft pillow, and her eyelids grew heavy. Her sleep-numb fingers contented themselves to the task of sorting Corrin's hair as she watched the dying embers of the fire flicker out one by one.


	2. Stirring Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassed by Camilla's diminutive treatment of her in front of her troops, Corrin lashes out in an instinctual need to command the respect of Camilla and her troops...
> 
> And, as the dragon struggles to take hold of her, herself as well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was written for commission. If you enjoyed this, I'm available for commissions and I've got a ton of other work on my site, [bespokesmut.com](http://www.bespokesmut.com). Or, if you'd like some smutty flash fiction of your own, feel free to drop a request into my [ask box](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com/ask) over at tumblr ([zoegmiller.tumblr.com](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com)) and I'll do my best to accommodate you!

The air in the crowded War Room was stifling—the collective body heat alone seemed enough to choke. At the time of its construction, Corrin had designated more than enough space for one kingdom’s worth of warriors. Of course, that was before the assimilation of her not one, but two, families, and their accordant retainers, into a single army. Now? With the combination of both Hoshidan and Nohrian forces, this was far less a War Room than a powder keg.

Bodies packed the hall, pressed tight around the great oaken table—the situation pleasing some far less than it pleased others. Oboro, pressed flat against Beruka, seemed to be attempting murder with the viciousness of her visage alone. Charlotte and Rinkah were apparently embroiled in a contest to prove their utmost devotion to their leader and liege while also attempting to break each other’s wrists? Either way, it involved a bizarre, close, and near-violent gripping of their hands.

Forcing herself to make the best of it, Corrin cleared her throat.

“Our vanguard will advance across the dry riverbed, here. All warriors—and that means _both_ of you two as well—in formation!” She slammed a weighty carved figurine of an axe-bearing warrior onto the table and leveled and instructive glance at Charlotte and Rinkah. “There _will_ be archers and mages, so we’ll need you in close ranks with our best defensive units. Understood?”

The throng all but subsumed her voice; there was a nodding, a rumble, and then a return to murmuring, jostling, frowning and... grappling.

“Aerial forces!” A jab with her finger towards the mountains to the east. “We’ll be moving in fast over the rough terrain. I’ll be traveling with Hinoka; I need you all at your...”

“With Hinoka?” A voice asked. “Do you really think that’s wise?” Arms slipped around Corrin’s waist …

Gods, no! Here? Of all places?

“Really, darling,” came Camilla’s throaty purr. “Let’s just have you remain here—safe and sound. We couldn’t possibly put our precious commander at such risk!”

Blood rushed to Corrin’s face as Camilla’s warmth settled against her back.

“I…” Corrin started.

But, finding herself overwhelmed by the proximity, and by the scent of Camilla’s perfume, Corrin stumbled over her words for long seconds, paralyzed before her troops in a room that was suddenly as quiet as she’d desired mere moments ago.

Someone whistled. Across the hall, his daughter did the same.

“A-adjourned!” she stammered, hastily, as Camilla’s fingers tickled a lazy path along her sides.

Summarily released, a collective sigh rose from the rear ranks and royals as her forces pushed for the doors. Unable to stall her reprimand until the throng departed, Corrin turned to Camilla with a coltish stomp of her foot upon the floor. “Camilla!”

“Corrin!” Camilla mimicked, with a tender tease at Corrin’s choked-but-serious tone. She tilted her head, and her dark eyes gleamed with deep affection. Embarrassed, Corrin turned back to the table with a wrinkle of her nose and a growing redness on her cheeks, busying herself with the placement of several miniatures on the war map.

Camilla, of course, didn’t deign to wait until the assembled troops had sallied forth to their various missions and posts—nor did she seem to care about the handful that might linger longer than was strictly proper, given how she rested herself gently against the blustery Corrin, the weight of her breasts pertinent against the young commander’s back, leather-gloved arms wrapping around the lithe figure of her precious treasure, and lavender hair slipping over Corrin’s face and nose to form a protective barrier between her sweet little princess and the rest of the cold, dark world.

“It’s for your own safety, you know,” Camilla whispered. “If anything happened to you out there… why, I’d simply die!”

Her fingertips traced easy paths up Corrin’s arms, squeezing sweetly over shoulders and against her neck. “Look how tense you are, dear. You’ve been so stressed these past few days—what with planning the battle, and those missives from home, not to mention...” As if thoughtless, Camilla let herself trail off. “Maybe I ought to give you a massage.”

Corrin breathed a slow, mixed sigh—relief at the empty hall and the release of public pressure, joy at the presence and pleasure of Camilla’s comfort and gentle shelter. Something more, too, something less sweet—an odd pain, a chewing at her heart. Fragility.

Camilla rested her chin atop the crown of Corrin’s head and held her close. As she worked her dexterous fingers deftly against the knots in Corrin’s shoulders, her eyes gleamed sharp and deadly in the direction of the hall’s final straggler—Soleil, naturally. A brief flash of a scowl was enough to send the mouth-agape sapphic soldier scurrying for the door—blushing all the more for it, of course.

“I am commander of this army, Camilla.” Corrin’s voice was tremulous, almost laughable, and it seemed to echo feebly in her ears. “It’s important they take me seriously!”

She could feel it. Somewhere out in the Deeprealms, or inside of her, or _somewhere_ , a different version of her, some other Corrin that couldn’t bear not to be wreathed in Camilla’s perfume, not to feel the soft leather of her gloves, not to be held and protected and pleasured. A Corrin that never left Nohr. A Corrin too fragile to rebel. With barely a thought, she turned away from the table, and her lover’s expert hands guided her into a ready embrace.

Corrin leaned into Camilla’s warmth, hardly conscious of the young lady lingering halfway out of the heavy door. And Camilla seemed content, replete in the knowledge that this was their proper place. As Corrin nestled into her, Camilla offered the gentle pressure of her palm between Corrin’s shoulder blades, drawing her close and encouraging her love to rest her cheek against the swell of her breasts—providing her sanctuary, as she always did. She purred to the heat blossoming from her precious little princess, and committed herself to the quiet task of carefully sorting Corrin’s hair, slipping her fingers through it and tucking it neatly behind each ear.

“They respect you, dear love. Why shouldn’t they?” As if there were nothing strange about the way she treated Corrin, in public or otherwise. For Camilla, perhaps, there was nothing strange. For Camilla, it was good and correct to dote upon the commander of an army, to shelter her, to keep her away from harm and from conflict and from the very war she’d started so that she could unite and protect those she loved...

And make her too weak to end it.

Heat rose off of Corrin’s body in long, intense waves, and her eyes, closed, glistened around their lids. She could hear her fragile self, somewhere else, shattering.

It was only the briefest second of warning Camilla received before the temperature of Corrin’s skin flared from warm to searing. Corrin pulled away, her nails lengthening, her blood boiling, her body hearing its own distress. And when, in compassion, Camilla reached for her, Corrin tensed, calves and legs and back slender and taut. With confident, draconic strength, she rebuked the elder princess—shoving Camilla back against and atop the heavy table.

Caught off guard, Camilla let out an uncharacteristic yip of surprise. Heavy ornaments and wooden platoon pieces scattered, painful beneath Camilla’s bottom, even through her clothing. Quite despite herself, a heat of her own rose in Camilla’s cheeks.

Quickly coming to senses, Corrin tucked her lower lip between her teeth in a moment of worried pause. She opened her mouth, heart leaping into her throat, wanting to apologize.

But Camilla recovered ably, and stilled Corrin’s words with a sly, feline smile. “Oh, does my little kitten want to show me she has claws?” Leaning forward, she drew the back of her hand along Corrin’s burning cheek. “Or should I say... my little dragon?”

Corrin saw that smile—delightful, intoxicating, and, in that moment, infuriating. Her blood roared in frustrated confusion, her heart screamed indignant fury, love, boiling lust! She hardly felt the shadow of pain as branching horns erupted from her forehead, marking her true nature. She pounced, predatory. With one hand she pinned Camilla’s powerful shoulder to the oaken table, an audible thump echoing in the hall.

“I am not your ‘little’ dragon!”

Did the abrupt and unnatural transformation surprise Camilla? It must have, a touch, as her plush lips parted in minor gasp, and her dark eyes flashed with incipient excitement—but was it _fear_? Well, one would have to go to a great deal of trouble to consider it such. Her lips quivered, promising speech...

Only to be claimed by Corrin’s passion. It was Corrin’s turn to seal Camilla’s words, drawing her into a long, slow kiss—deep and satisfying, warm and sharp-toothed. The dragon within had never known such a thing. To know someone, to want their protection, to need their loyalty, to desire their love and their body and yet to so dearly long to...

Camilla sighed into the soft lips that greeted her, offering no complaint as the talons of a small carved, wooden wyvern dug into her back, while the talons of _her_ wyvern dug into her arm. Her lips received her lover, gentle, wet, and welcoming.

And it was with a kittenish mewl of disappointment, that Camilla surfaced for air after Corrin released her.

“Of course you are, my dear,” she said, her gloved fingers traipsing tenderly along the hard, sensitive nubs of Corrin’s nascent horns. Her other hand eagerly cupped Corrin’s cheek, and tilted her lover’s head. Despite her supine position, and Corrin’s snarling utterance, not a single whit of fear showed in Camilla’s eyes, only doting, drenching compassion and admiration.

Corrin’s eyes closed as skillful fingers danced along her horns. The curious traipse of Camilla’s touch sent new and unexplored, unexplained sensations down the length of her spine and impossible-yet-soothing thrills into her mind. Who else’s dragon _could_ she be? How quickly she’d forgotten, of course, that Camilla had been dealing death—and taming dragons—for nearly as long as Corrin had been alive.

Corrin could have been coaxed, lulled into that sweet, aroused fragility when a feigned grimace crossed Camilla’s face and she spoke what could have been, for her, some very unfortunate words. “After all, who else could you possibly belong to?” Camilla even giggled, as if she were preternaturally attuned to Corrin’s innermost thoughts and fears. “Don’t tell me that awful, awful Hinoka has taken advantage of you.” Another mirthful giggle broke the surface of her stomach, and she wrapped her arms around the little dragon’s shoulder and neck, to pull Corrin into a loving, maternal hug.

The words placed an image in Corrin’s mind, one she struggled with, rebelled against, for a brief moment courted and danced with, because that is the nature of such things. Her eyes snapped open, pupils pinpoints, her skin almost too hot to touch.

Camilla perhaps thought little of the matter—she stroked tender, careful fingertips all along Corrin’s face, neck, and through her hair, heedless of the danger. She deployed her boundless affection with her usual skill, as though she could wash away the troubles of the day, and week, and years, with the persistent massage of her touch against Corrin’s scalp—caring for her beloved little wyvern. In times like this, the bond between master and mount didn’t seem so different from how she attended to Corrin’s bodily wants and bodily needs. In that respect, perhaps the girl’s heat was rather… telling…

Yes, bodily needs, weren’t they? Her sweet Corrin, so pent up. Poor thing, frustrated beyond belief, and not even knowing why. Camilla had been derelict in her duty! Her hand roved down Corrin’s torso, between her small breasts, and along her svelte stomach, tracing the lines of her clothing and searching for something deeper... “That’s what has you so troubled, isn’t it, my sweet little dragon? She can’t take care of you, not like I can. She hasn’t doted on you. She hasn’t performed her duty.”

“Hinoka would _never_!” Corrin growled, tearing herself away from the embrace. Her open palm crackled like flame across Camilla’s cheek, turning her head in its wake. The nubs of her horns sharpened, lengthened. “You will not speak of her that way again!”

For the second time, Camilla released a yelp as the red-hot flush burst on her struck cheek, and her neck locked. It was with mild surprise she observed her lover; but Corrin didn’t so much as tremble—though in her deepest heart, she surely wanted to.

But Camilla had a way of dismissing such things. A sly, cajoling smile spread across her lips. “But she is awful, isn’t she?” Fingers reached for Corrin’s budding horns, testing the sharpness of them, the danger. “If she’s stealing you away from me, even for a moment, then she certainly is. Shush now, enough of that—”

Corrin’s eyes sparked with new, eager fire—Camilla’s words, though untrue, had struck their mark. The scent of her arousal, amplified by draconic heat and the stifling closeness of armor, was enough to fill the hall.

Perhaps that was what granted Corrin this newfound confidence.

“Oh, my sweet Corrin,” Camilla said, riveting her gaze to Corrin’s pleasingly frustrated face. “This day has taken its toll and you, and you need me to...” Something gave her pause. She released her breath in a heady pant as Corrin’s hand, insistent, slipped beneath the fabric at her thighs and found the matching heat there. “Corrin...” The name all but a moan, Camilla’s hips fidgeted, complicating the advance of Corrin’s fingers in her clothing and along her thighs—though only hardly. Her delta was fiery warm and stoked with an unmistakable moistness. Her face grew warmer, as if such a thing were possible, and her eyes glistened with want. Her lips parted, and she placed the flat of her hand between Corrin’s breasts. Her head fell, and her long hair obscured how her eyes swam, as her body cleaved to the explosive quality of her lover’s touch. Still, despite herself, she struggled to regain some modicum of poise. “That’s hardly what YOU want, darling, you never… you… should—”

“I will make love as I wish and as I will. I will not be contained!” Corrin’s voice echoed with a force and a desire greater than any mere human.

The abruptness of her proclamation seemed to shock them both. They were frozen, except for the writhe of Camilla’s hips, seeking this imminent pleasure. In the stillness of that moment, could it be that the shroud of hair, concealing her face, was what gave permission for Camilla to speak that single word, that small request, that hiss of need…

“Yessss…”

With flaring eyes and curled fingers, Corrin claimed Camilla’s heat as her own.

The forceful advance of fingers silenced Camilla well and truly. Corrin’s breath was hot, damp, her face close to Camilla’s ear, and she glowed in triumph the moan that echoed beneath her. For all of their trysts, for all of Camilla’s pleasured sounds and sweetnesses, never before had she heard such a vulnerable expression of desire. With hunger, she drove her fingers deeper inside Camilla, desperate to evoke that sound once more.

She angled her fingers up sharply and thrust into the warm depths of her Camilla. Camilla’s spine arched forward, her body seemed to compress, and her hands groped lustfully upwards, seeking Corrin’s touch. “Ah!” She groaned, hips roiling with the surprise of wakened lust as Corrin staked her dominance upon her.

Camilla had perhaps meant to play this as a game. Even as Corrin drove fingers into her dense, yearning place, she thought she could still have her fun with this—perhaps she thought it would be precious, even. Her darling. Her dear. Her love. Her one and only. It would be pleasant to give her this, to let her have this lark, and to let her be on top... so to speak...

Or not ‘so to speak’ at all, as Corrin all but mounted her, and as Corrin’s fingers meet precious little resistance within the warm, craving tunnel of her core. And though some of her furor had melted away with the passionate pursing of Camilla’s lips, Corrin was no less enraptured for it; she intended to make good on her bold claim. She relished Camilla’s mewling gasp, and the writhe of her hips. Her thumb caressed Camilla’s clit, playing against the body-hot metal that pierced it, and she thrust once more, again, and again, nimble, fingers pressing upwards, faster and faster, rough, almost animal, as much an act of dominance as an act of love.

“Ah!” Camilla whispered, into the empty air, fingers grasped in an imploring tug at Corrin’s arm, begging her forward, into her, and through her, to steal away every inch of her being.

“No matter how much you love me, you will not condemn me to weakness!” Corrin gasped, her own thighs positively aching, her body crying for her release—it must be so obvious! But not in that moment, not when she was so close! She set her jaw, lowered her wrist against Camilla’s tightness, fervent in her desire, in her new strength, and the thrill of this independence.

Camilla’s hips writhed in uncapped passion. How long had it been since she’d been tended to, even by herself? It was only natural that her needs were neglected. She had so many to care for, and none more important than her darling princess, her little dragon. She clenched her legs around Corrin’s advancing thighs, her heels dug into flesh through clothing. “Corrin,” she whispered, chest heaving with anticipatory lust. “I-I only…”

“Is that why you persist in mentioning Hinoka?” Corrin asked. “Poor, lonely Camilla, who has to take care of her little glass Princess! Poor, trapped Camilla, leashed to her pet dragon, she cannot escape to have the valiant woman she desperately wants!”

Camilla’s feet kicked at the air, lightly, languidly, like a tired cat—and yet somehow plaintively, too. That was the first plea, the first indication. Camilla writhed beneath her love, her commander, arms groping at the air, mouth open in a gasp, hardly above to draw air as the plunging found so many deep, and so many disused, places inside her.

“Ah!” Camilla gasped again, through spit-damp lips. And finally, finally, her orgasm overtook her in a fiery rush.

Her body seized, and began to shake, and the aching walls of her abused cunt clenched deeply, and forever, around Corrin’s necessary fingers. Her back arched, showing the tented nubs of hard nipples—and their smooth silver piercings—through her top, and yet she had no way to sublimate this passion. It defeated her, it erased her sensibility, to say nothing of her senses. She writhed beneath it, swept up in a wave. For a moment, she feared she was blind!

Overcome with the thrill of conquest, Corrin smirked, staking her claim upon Camilla with a final thrust, her body rejoicing with the moan of sensitivity the motion stripped from Camilla’s recovering lungs. Then, she pulled her fingers free, sodden with the scent of Nohr’s eldest daughter, soiling the precious map of the realm beneath her.

“You will just have to settle for Hinoka’s sister, until you can work up the bravery to ask for she you truly desire…” Her voice rang ruefully as she caressed Camilla, marked her cheek lovingly with her musky-damp fingers, as though she meant to soothe the sting of her striking palm.

Panting, head slacked to one side, and cheek resting aside the pointed crenellations of a miniature castle, the scent of her own musk brought Camilla back to her senses. Her hips rolled and roiled, and she allowed herself a moan of disappointment—so suddenly empty it was somehow painful. Her breathing was uneven, shaky one might dare to say—though perhaps not aloud. Her leg lifted, groping towards her love, wanting to wrap around her buttocks and draw Corrin into her warmth... but, shocked, she found herself too weak even for that.

Camilla’s lips flared with uneven breath, and her breasts rose and fell with her panting, and when had Corrin so much as seen her out of breath? Not even in the heat of the most frenzied affray. Not even swinging the slab of iron she called an axe around, or flinging spells and laying waste to all she saw.

...not even atop her, those many nights, in the heat of passion, devoting herself only to the pleasure of the one beneath her, her love and her only—her little dragon...

And though her breath came uneven, and her eyes were fairly glazed and distant, and her words had to sneak and struggle out between each panting breath, and her skin was ripe with sheen of sweat, and her well-kept hair was positively ruined and plastered to her brow, and the odorous, earthy aroma of her sex filled the room like a third occupant, Camilla still evinced some measure of noble poise. “...what... escape?” She breathed. “The valiant... focus... of my... desperation... is...” Her dark eyes gleamed with redolent love, thick with tears of brazen affection. “Right... before... me...”

Those words almost gave Corrin pause, brought her back to herself. The awful things she’d said, she’d done—surely Camilla didn’t deserve them? Surely, not her love! The room reeked of heat and sex, of sapphic desire, and nevertheless Camilla still had such grace. Corrin hardly noticed the mussed hair, the welt on her cheek, the smeared map which would almost certainly be very, very hard to explain to whomever had labored for weeks creating the inadvertent stage for their passion. Swept up in the moment Corrin swooped forward, head crested stag-like to pull Camilla to her, to reassure her with gentle embrace.

“Then let your beloved apologize for her rude behavior. Let her love you as deeply as you love her.”

Scarcely missing a beat—oh, what “scarcely”? This was Camilla, veritable queen of dragons, and she’d rarely missed a beat—Camilla wrapped gentle arms around her love, drawing her into that familiar, unconditionally loving embrace.

And yet her corded muscles were slack. She held Corrin passively, nestling her nose against her beloved’s ear, and letting Corrin make of this quiet contact what she would. Her lips moved softly along the curve of Corrin’s ear, marking it lightly with lipstick—her lip plump and bee stung with barely sublimated desire. “Oh, you dear, sweet girl.” Wetly, she stroked along Corrin’s earlobe. “Don’t you know it’s me who should apologize?”

Was it possible to be so thoughtful that you become thoughtless? To become so selfless that you become selfish? Camilla drank in Corrin’s closeness as she thought on these things. Cataloging their many liaisons after their recent reunion, she saw with a keen eye how, with all of her loving, devoted attentiveness, she had begun to subdue Corrin, and thereby diminish her lover’s true needs. She cupped her hand into the hollow at the small of Corrin’s back, and held her treasured one close. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the novel sensation of her own raspy breathing—how long had it been since she worked up a sweat like this?

And so it was with a mild, mirthful sound of surprise she noticed the escape of Corrin from her arms only after her little princess had slipped downwards. On bare toes, balance poised and perfect, Corrin bent her knees, bringing her lips to Camilla’s warmth.

And it was with greater surprise that she felt Corrin’s lips meet the open, moist, and somewhat abused entrance of her ready cunt. “Oh, Corrin...” Camilla shuddered with effort and anticipation, completely subdued by her lover’s attention, but still, she couldn’t resist applying a tousle to Corrin’s hair—a diminishing gesture if ever there were one!

Corrin seemed to take no umbrage. Gently, at first, she kissed, her tongue caressing and dancing around the delicate, neglected lips of Camilla’s pussy, soothing the pain of her recent entry, lavishing attention upon the piercing-and-jewel at her clit, finding the turns and breaths and moments that made her elder’s voice rise, and toes curl, and fingers clench, as though she might drive the striking spectre of Hinoka from Camilla’s mind—and, indeed, from her own—entirely.

And, truth be told, when the lips of Camilla’s precious sibling graced over the ruby-studded ring that pierced her sensitive button, her mind went blank. She let her breath out in a silent rush, feeling the hollow of her stomach bottoming out before Corrin’s incipient attention, and merely pressing her palm against it to explore the novelty of the sensation. Her toes curled, and, though she’d likely never say it aloud, she relished her new, precious vulnerability.

Without realizing it, without being able to think at all, Camilla cleaved to Corrin’s needs on pure instinct. Her head draped back, haloing her mussed hair like hungry tendrils across the table. Her leg arced upwards, hollow of her knee socketing around Corrin’s neck and securing her lover’s against her musky recesses—binding Corrin to her heat, her scent, and her power.

So very long Corrin spent, so sweet, drinking of the flavor and aroma of Camilla, worshipping at the temple of her. Never tiring—whether through ardor or draconic stamina or devotion or some combination of the three—it was some time indeed before she even dared delve within her beloved, exploring and soothing with her brave tongue, letting that act seal their strange closeness, letting it beckon forth more pleasure. She traced within—delicate and brazen between her elder’s thighs, blissful and adoring and adored.As Corrin found her confidence, as she took the remains of her frustration and turned them into something delicate and beautiful, Camilla’s back arched, just a touch, and she cried out to the room quieter than a little cloud. “Oh...” she uttered, as Corrin found this precious, hidden part of her, in a way no one ever had. “Oh, my dragon...” And just a dragon, was Corrin; there was nothing _little_ about her, in that moment.

Corrin’s inner dragon soared, at that word. To be protected was precious, but she was not the Corrin that desired no more than protection, that stayed within Nohr while the world outside trembled. She made no such choice then, and to have her choice honored by her beloved made her heart cry aloud. She would have almost cried with the outpouring, but for her efforts at hand, but for the devotion to which she set herself. She found that little ruby piercing once more - as though it were a gift to her, for her - and with gentle teeth tugged, coaxed.

It was strange, almost, to find that Camilla, so unabashed and unapologetic, who fought with fire and treated with dragons, made sounds so small. But perhaps it was all in keeping - that when so much of one was outside, in blades and breasts and beasts, wrapped up in the treachery of familial royal plots, one must keep one’s own desires hidden and small.

So much better, perhaps, that Corrin shared in this one small, hidden sound, and so much prouder was she to kiss and to touch and to coax forward yet another, forced so close to the musk and depth and beauty of her lover.

Camilla’s back was damp with sweat and ruined ink of the map beneath her, it seemed that countless figurines tangled in her hair and poke at her exposed skin, and the temperature in the windowless room seemed to raise by the minute.

And yet... had she ever been happier?

Corrin’s nimble attentions elicited querulous gasps from her, and Camilla’s fingers swept up and down the rapid rise and fall of her pulsing stomach, seeking something to do, something to assist, some way to help. But there was nothing... she was passive, in that moment, and that she found stranger, harder than anything had ever been. She bit down upon her bottom lip, to stifle her cries, but that only lasted a breath—or even less than one, as Corrin grew bolder and the tug of teeth at her piercing shot an electric blur of energy up Camilla’s spine. Camilla went rigid, and what followed was a colossal groan as Corrin’s dutiful tongue gradually worked that climax-sore cunt to this much steeper, far more dangerous cliff. Her vision seemed to blur, and the world grew distant, and she would have begged for this, this precious gift, if it were required. Quite despite herself, Camilla found her moment to assert her presence once more. Scooting forward on the table, right leg still hugging Corrin close enough to suffocate, her left notched deeply in the space between Corrin’s thighs, toes wriggling, searching for her lover’s hidden source, desperate to provide even the briefest reflection of pleasure that her dragon imbues into her.

Corrin took her ably—and desperately at that—guiding Camilla’s offered leg to the meeting of her thighs, pressing it against her hidden place. This was sufficient; this was what she wanted. The pressure against her sex drew a tremulous groan from Corrin, and her body forced itself against that pressure, pleading for sensation of its own. With a sharp exhalation, Corrin declared her dominance over her own physical form.

At the heat of Corrin’s breath and the cry of her satisfaction, another electric ripple threw Camilla’s body into shock, and she moaned loud enough for the camp to hear, pawing aimlessly at her body, as if there were some hidden button that could release her pleasure—aside from the one poised between Corrin’s expert lips. Ever since she was young, Camilla had found herself able to tame all manner of beasts—horses, wyverns, even men, all fell beneath her able will. But at that moment, Camilla discovered that one dragon, one she thought well within her grasp, had escaped her, and that one she might never tame. And wouldn’t that be all the better, for it?

“Please...” Came her heavy, heady gasp. “Please... I must... let me...”

Corrin, between clenching thighs, horned and heady, nodded, eyes bright and high. “Yes, my Camilla.” She set her teeth and, her rider’s ring between them, descended.

A dragon-knight’s charge is ever dominance. Pegasi are a bond; a conjunction between rider and steed, a graceful dance of partners. Wyverns are a conquering pair; a struggle of will. A rider that triumphs will survive her steed, and a rider that survives her steed will survive the battlefield.

Camilla, taming dragon after dragon, beast upon beast, had never been in a position to dance gracefully with one, to give and take, to share in part. She would tame; she would nurture and protect, but always, always tame. And there, in that dance of paired muscles and instincts and nerves, she could feel Corrin’s heart beating as she could never feel any dragon’s. She felt Corrin’s pleasure rising as though it were her own, alongside her own, building with her own, sparking so high and hot that a lesser woman might be reduced to ash. Like a dragon-knight, she rode it, crested it, knee bent and charge beneath her.

Her eyes and mind were full and blinded. She could feel Camilla stoking— _stroking_ —at herself—building to release, two fingers poised—

And, together, as one, they plunged.

Camilla’s cry was loud enough to be heard ‘cross the training grounds. Corrin’s, understandably muffled. The aftermath left a battlefield devastated, unalterably changed, a fortress eradicated, an army swept asunder, if only in miniature.

It meant no less to them.

Panting, Camilla reached down to feather her fingers through Corrin’s hair, the dragon’s horns almost entirely disappeared in the exhaustion of the peace. “My dragon.”

And the woman on the floor, half-kneeling, half-prone, looked up, smiling, dazed and satisfied. “My knight.”

Camilla’s eyes gleamed gently at that response, and the weight of it. Trying to rise onto her elbows, her shaking body resisted even that simple request. And so she entreated Corrin—her small princess, her precious, valiant love—to come to her. As was her way, Camilla pulled, tugged, whined, and cajoled until she had what she wanted—the warm, heavy, sweat-damp, and painfully necessary weight of Corrin atop her.

Satisfied with Corrin’s lapse into obedience, Camilla clung her shivering thighs to her lover’s sides, and roved her hands eagerly over back, neck, scalp, ears, whatever she could touch. Beaming, she deposited a smooth, cautious kiss to Corrin’s lips—just a quiet and simple one, nothing too presumptuous. After all, it was not her place to decide to the pace of every engagement, much as she might want to.

And yet, it seemed Corrin had no further orders to give. Overcome, she did naught so much as cling to Camilla, and gasp out the sound of her effort upon her lover’s face, her eyes wide and vulnerable, her slight form trembling with uncertainty and exhaustion, now that the passion of the moment was ebbing away.

So then, in the aftermath of their love, Camilla guided Corrin’s head to rest atop her ample breasts, cooing tenderly, the beat within her chest acting as pleasing lullaby to her dragon’s ear.

Then, after a time, when Camilla’s breathing had recovered, and her poise with it, the dragon rider called out in throaty sing-song.

“Oh Soleil~”

And to the crash and stumble in the hallway that served as Soleil’s response, Camilla sternly spoke.

“Next time you want to observe, I recommend asking first. If you want to keep those eyes in your head, and that head on your shoulders, I mean.” Skilled fingers tucked the messy strands of Corrin’s hair back behind her ear.

“Dragons, when not dealt with forthright, have swift and tremendous appetites.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was written for commission. If you'd like to request something, either drop me a line at [bespokesmut.com](http://www.bespokesmut.com), or put an [ask in my tumblr box](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com/ask) over at <http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com>. I’m also open to commissions, and you can also join my mailing list at [Gumroad](https://gumroad.com/zoemiller#) for all the latest updates on my work!


	3. Bucking Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there's a will, there's a way, Corrin. :o
> 
> (slight warning for rough-er than my usual sex, but i don't think it's so out there that'll trip ppl up o_o)

“And now that you’ve ably demonstrated your understanding of  _ that  _ lesson.” Camilla took a brush from the table. “Let’s return to strategy, shall we?”

Corrin stroked sweat from her brow and ran the back of her hand against her lips, still damp and redolent of Camilla’s cunt. “Is now the proper time? I’d like to bathe before—"

“We’re finished when I say we’re finished, dear.”

Camilla swirled her brush in a pot of black paint. Wet, soft bristles tickled down the hollow of Corrin’s throat. “When it comes to your defenses, you’re vulnerable here.” The horsehair tip outlined of her left nipple. “And here.” Then the right. “And here as well. Not to mention…” Camilla refreshed the brush, and, after the requisite pause to ensure she had Corrin’s full attention, swept it in a squiggle down Corrin’s side. “And your flanks, of course, dreadfully exposed.”

“Camilla…” whispered Corrin. 

“Tut tut, not now,” Camilla replied. With a light push between Corrin’s breasts, she guided her to recline atop the table. “I’m trying to keep you  _ safe _ , after all!”

Corrin’s lower lip shivered with the spill of her breath. Her petite cock bobbed gently with the squirm of her hips.

“Very good,” Camilla said with an adroit nod. “Moving on.” The place of a figurine, a cobalt pegasus knight, in the hollow of Corrin’s breasts. “We know how you love your winged riders.” A sly little smile. When Corrin opened her mouth to protest this implication, Camilla silenced her by placing one of the small figurines between her lips. “I’m not jealous, mind. A Pegasus has her place just as—” Fishing up an emerald wyvern figurine from the table, she placed it lightly at the base of Corrin’s cock. “Just as a wyvern has hers.” A flash of her red eye. “Would you like this wyvern to take her place?”

Corrin groaned, the figurine between her lips glimmering, imprisoning of her darting tongue. Camilla reined her, gloved hands closing firm around sprouting horns. “Restrain yourself, my lord.” 

Corrin did. Camilla sat astride her, sweeping the lightest touch of the ready lips of her cunt like a whisper against the cherry red tip of Corrin’s cock. Corrin faintly yowled, her mouth growing wide in passion-mad grin, showing sprouting fangs. Camilla cooed, instructing the motion of Corrin’s hips with the patient stroke of her own. “Mind your defenses, my lord.” 

With the aching release of her thighs, she descended.

Her warmth rippled around Corrin’s, soothing energy. With Corrin’s jaw trembling beneath a moan of passion, the figurine slipped from the grip of her teeth, and a cascade followed as all the other figures tumbled away with the shudder of her painted body. Corrin’s fingers gripped at Camilla’s flanks,  _ dreadfully exposed _ as they were, sharpening nails scraping down Camilla’s  opulent flesh. Camilla shivered, the shake of her body inescapable, piercing even her immaculate control. “Mind your… defenses… my lord…” She said, again. “Or…” A gasp, at the rippling pressure inside of her. Her cunt pulsed, cajoling Corrin to further stiffness, the soft lavender of her pubic hair tickling the base of Corrin’s shaft. She gasped, red eye gone wide, lip seized between grinding teeth. Gloved hand braced around Corrin’s nape for leverage. “Prove you’ve the offense to…” Dart of tongue over wanton lips. A squint of effort, at the corner of her eye. “Compensate…”

At this tacit implication, Corrin could hold no longer. With a roar of bestial intent, she flung Camilla onto the table. Pieces of cast ceramic, carved wood, agate and amber tumbled away with the shuddering impact. Camilla’s body hitched upwards, offering herself, and she giggled through panting breath. 

A squeal, as the surge of Corrin’s body met hers. Corrin’s weight fell upon her; she drove herself to the hilt. Camilla moaned, her hips recoiling into her lover’s. Her cheek rocked against the rough felt that served as plains on the war table.

They clashed with the stunning impact of soft flesh and hard muscle. Corrin’s hands thumped down on either side of Camilla. The wild lengthening of her nails into claws stripped the table’s felt, but she held firm. This time, Corrin did not resist the change, she managed it. 

She  _ embraced  _ it. 

“Yes!” Camilla cried out. “A strong lord is nothing without a mind! Without control!” Gloved hands struck out for balance, finishing the job Corrin started, scattering priceless artifacts of strategy and war over the table, to smash and clatter against the floor like so much worthless crockery. “Show me!” She wheezed with excitement and pride. “Show me you’ve the will to protect what you love!”

The relish of her intent exploded from her core. The full protrusion of her horns, the tear of her wings from her shoulders. She panted with eldritch energy, the heat of her body burning Camilla’s painted lines from her skin. She fell forward, cloaking Camilla with her smaller shape. The brusque pounds Corrin’s hips lurched Camilla forward, sensitive nipples grinding through the downy fuzz of simulated grasslands as her breasts lodged themselves between the dueling peaks of artificial mountains. With every rampant throw, Camilla cried out beneath her. A hand reached back for Corrin’s hip, gripping her close, inward, into the warm comfort of her lover’s embrace.

Corrin grunted with each thrust, focusing on a welling pool of sweat between Camilla’ shoulder blades. It became her locus, her fetish, her center. Urged on by glove and cunt, Corrin made use of the body before her. Pain criss-crossed her body in seismic lines. So what? Let it. It was nothing worse than she’d endured a hundred times before, a thousand, in other situations, in other places, without someone like Camilla to keep her…

_ Safe...? _

“Camilla!” Corrin cried out, the name barely discernible through her fanged mouth. With a climatic thrust, she spilled herself loose into Camilla, sharp fingernails scrawling a welting miss of lines over Camilla’s back. The body beneath her took her to its absolute limit, and met her thrust with eager push to achieve that goal. Throat bobbing, lips fluttering, her body seized, she began to shake, her arms grew weak, and then her legs, and then, quite soon after, came a terrible clatter as the world split and shot upwards in Corrin’s vision…

She woke with a wince. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but Camilla had already dragged Corrin’s shaking body, cold with sweat, into her lap by the horns. They sat together, leaned against one of the massive table legs.

“Camilla.” Corrin whimpered. “T-that hurts.”

“Terribly sorry.” Camilla’s touch immediately fled the curve of one of Corrin’s horns. Coming to her senses, Corrin jerked away, as if to flee. “Don’t look at me,” she wanted to say.

But her speech was silly, and slow, from fangs not yet retreated. Before she had the words out, Camilla had  _ her  _ around the face, gripping her tight to screw their gazes together. Stifled, Corrin sucked uncertain breaths through her nose, dizzied by the crimson glint of Camilla’s eye, and the warm balm of breath over skin, as Camilla said:

“Try and stop me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brief addition to an existing work was written at the request of one of my patreons! \o/ thank you for your support!
> 
> As always, I appreciate comments more than--OH GOD AM I TURNING INTO THE DE FACTO AO3 DRAGON GIRL?? 
> 
> I'm available for commissions currently via my [Patreon](http://www.patreon.com/zohg), and you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/zoegmiller), [tumblr](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com/), [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/zohg). All sorts of places! Thank you for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested in my other works, you can find my NSFW stuff at my website [bespokesmut.com](http://www.bespokesmut.com). I’m also open to commissions, you can drop requests for short fiction [in my tumblr ask box](http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com/ask) over at <http://zoegmiller.tumblr.com>and you can also join my mailing list at [Gumroad](https://gumroad.com/zoemiller#) for all the latest updates on my work! If you enjoyed this work, please share it around! :)
> 
> <3 Thank you for reading! <3


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